I know some people, not to mention names, who are like old teasel.
They grumble and rumble and sometimes grumble about their rumble.
At times their age shows in the form of sharp barbs and spotted faces.
But I would not trade them for any other because you see they are still beautiful to me.
They are still like that quick young person I knew when they get sassy and say things that others may fear to say.
But now they don’t whisper it and come right out loud and say it to my face.
When they put on a new hat they are still handsome, though in a more dignified way even if some of them don’t pick the best look, they never did then either.
Yup! they may be old and slow and have weaker eyes to see all my imperfections with but I still got um and maybe my barbs are showing a bit more too.
I think all those young and brash weeds I knew may not be young in the eyes of the world but I still see them fresh and green with high hopes.
I try to listen more to what they have to say too because the older I get the more there is to know.
Young weeds tell me what they think is right, and where they think I should go and how I should go because they read it in a book but old thistles tell me from experience what’s really in store for me because they wrote the book.